


you'll love me at once

by angramainyu



Category: Fate/Prototype, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angramainyu/pseuds/angramainyu
Summary: father. i’ll destroy everything that you love! you won’t need anything, won’t desire anything, i’ll make you love me until you scream out in despair.





	you'll love me at once

The sun sets slowly. It has no concerns, no responsibilities, only the obligation with which to set when the time comes and to rise when night goes to sleep. In contrast to its warm colors that bathe fields and villages a beautiful orange color, it’s a time of the day when all is nothing and nothing is everything, where it becomes so transcendent that it’s neither hot nor cold.

It is quiet. The streets of Camelot, once full of chatter and life, ready themselves for the calm of the evening. Fathers have their earnings in their pockets, Mothers have their children in each hand. It’s another calm day, lacking in despair and filled with hope.

Inside the castle’s vicinity, crickets sing. Ever so in rhythm, they form together a tune that blends with life and becomes normal. The sunset graces the castle’s entrance. The tiles that compose the streets adorn a pleasant orange color. The puddles of blood under the several corpses of knights and commoners alike look lovelier than they do terrifying. It’s quiet. Whereas swords clashed and iron against iron rang and echoed in royal hallways, the silence that flows from one chamber to another becomes relaxing.

Guards are dead. Knights are slaughtered. The well-known Knights of the Round Table fought bravely, but were outnumbered.

In the king’s chamber are the only signs of life.

“How does it feel, Father! To lose all of your knights, all of those fools of the Round Table who struggled and struggled to protect their king, but ultimately failed. Ahhh, I can only wonder what it feels like. I told you, didn’t I? That I would destroy everything you love.”

There is no change in Arthur Pendragon’s face, none that Mordred can see. He wonders if the man underneath him, severed shoulder and missing an arm, understands the gravity of his situation. (Arthur does.) Mordred’s face shows no change either. Whether or not his Father is aware, such matters own little importance. He had been worried the king wouldn’t raise his sword against one who has been a loyal knight until now. Arthur Pendragon is a forgiving king after all (too much so), one who accepts insults from Tristan and nods at his own wife’s cheating. 

Yet Arthur Pendragon had a look in his eyes, fierce and intimidating, as if he had been waiting for this moment to come. Merlin must have told him. Welcome this man in your kingdom, and your life will come to an end. How utterly foolish. Even now, when the king’s life is so feeble in his treacherous son’s hand, the mage of Avalon does not come to protect and save him.

How must it feel to be left behind by the one person who has been by his side since his birth, Mordred wonders.

Perhaps - the same way it feels when Arthur refuses even a glance at the man who is his son, illegitimate or not. 

“Now that you don’t have anywhere else to look, you deny talking to me. Am I that much of an embarrassment? Do you hate me that much? Tell me!”

Mordred’s fingers curl perfectly around the fragile neck of his Father. The blood loss from his severed arm and the pain his entire body yelled about had turned that man who so bravely fought many battles against Saxons and dragons alike into a creature as weak as a child. Mordred does not put much strength into his hand, does not intend to choke Arthur until his consciousness leaves him. He needs him awake.

“Your Mother…--” Arthur struggles to speak. Mordred releases his neck. “I’m sorry, that your Mother has turned you into this kind of pers--”

“My Mother?” Mordred bitterly laughs at the words that leave his Father’s mouth. (What does this man know?) The smile on his face contorts into something coated in disgust, in disbelief. Like the words spoken to him could only be meant as a joke. “You think my Mother made me like this? Where is the forgiving king that takes the blame for everything! Ah, of course. Since it’s me we are talking about, you can’t take responsibility for this. You have never accepted me as your son.”

Arthur stays quiet -- because in those words lay no lies. 

“Fine. It doesn’t matter.” The sword that had been sunk deep in the king’s shoulder is quickly removed with a harsh gasp from Arthur and an indifferent expression from Mordred. “I don’t care for that old hag. You, however. I will make you accept me. I will make you acknowledge me. I will make you love me, Father, and only me. Whether you want to or not.”

Mordred skewers through pieces of broken armor with ease. His swords cuts through fabric and chainmail as a knife would through paper, and there’s little care when the sharp ends of it catch on Arthur’s skin and open new wounds. The way his blood flows from cuts excites Mordred. That beautiful blood he shares with his Father. He’s wasted enough of it.

Mordred lays across Arthur and without ceremony his tongue licks clean the king’s chest of any blood that poured from his wound just seconds ago. It’s bittersweet and addictive. It’s the blood that flows through Arthur’s veins and his own. The blood they share. Pleasure clouds the knight’s face, and his body turns hot. He has admired Arthur Pendragon all his life, looked up to him, dreamed of him and dreamed of always being by his side. He has dreamed of being loved by him, before and after finding out the truth of his birth.

But Arthur doesn't reciprocate his love. Arthur won’t spare a place next to him for the only one who truly deserves it.

Nails sink in the skin of Arthur’s waist, where wounds from their previous battle lay. Arthur shouts in sudden pain, and it’s a loving tone for Mordred’s ears. He wants to hear his Father scream. He wants to hear him beg. He wants to make him cry, and swear to love Mordred. Now and forever. Until the end of their lives.

Mordred sits up once again, legs straddled on either side of Arthur’s hips. He rocks his own against Arthur’s, slowly and idly, drowning in the pleasure that comes from the heat in his body. His armor has been long ago discarded. When Mordred touches Arthur now, it’s the most intimate they have ever been.

“You aren’t fighting back. Does it mean you have come to accept me?” Mordred knows that would never come be.

Arthur does not find it in himself to reply with words. Through the dizziness that comes from blood loss and the pain altogether, his green eyes show pity. Mordred hates it.

“... So you won’t. I don’t care. No… It doesn’t matter anymore. No one will come rescue you. You’re all mine now. Just like I have always wanted.” 

In one swift motion, the clank of metal against the floor echoes through the room as Mordred throws his sword on the ground. He runs his hands through Arthur’s chest, through wounds and bruises and blood and smears it as much as he can. He leans over again. If Arthur were a fool, he would have mistaken the kisses Mordred plants on his skin as gentle and loving. But he knows better. He knows those are kisses filled with the desire to possess, to make one theirs. Toxic kisses one would give to gain another’s truth, to poison another’s mind, to make them think they are cared. 

Kisses akin to vines. Entangling his body as Mordred trails upwards, binding him to love that has lost its innocence years past.

Arthur cannot hold back the moan that leaves his throat and escapes his mouth as Mordred circles his left nipple with his tongue. The sensation in his body has gradually become numb, but the forced pleasure sparks him in a shock. He does not wish to look at Mordred, refuses so with all his might. That would be an unforgivable sight to burn to memory and haunt him to his death. Mordred does not care if he doesn’t look at him, yet. 

Had it been any other occasion, the knight would have felt disappointment as his right hand slides down and grasps his Father’s limp cock. Arthur tries his best to hold moans back, chain them to his throat. (Mordred notices, and then, rushes his hand to share with his Father the feelings his own body is experiencing.) He bites down on the king’s nipple with strength enough to make Arthur yell in pain. It’s a sound Mordred has slowly become addicted to. A sound he wishes to hear more of.

Fingers missing kindness entangle with locks of golden hair, pulling Arthur’s head back and exposing his throat in submission. Mordred’s teeth meet the fragile skin of his Father’s throat and bites down there. It is not something he does to willingly inflict pain. It’s something he does to mark an object which belongs to him. The marks that comes from kisses and bites - Arthur understands them. Understands Mordred’s necessity to have something to call his. He tries not to squirm in pain, but even as he lifts his legs and unconsciously tries to fight Mordred off, it is not a reaction of rebellion. It’s a reaction to the excruciating heat in his crotch.

Mordred; however, doesn’t see it for what it is. He sits up and releases his Father’s hair, grabbing one of his thighs to hold one of his legs in place. “Don’t even think about it. I won’t hesitate to cut your legs off and make you into a doll if I have to.”

Arthur stops moving, but looks at Mordred with pain and guilty pleasure both that becomes harder to fight back. 

Mordred’s hand moves slowly on Arthur’s cock, no longer limp, but neither is it fully hard. The knight himself gets rid of hot breaths that clog his throat as he stares down at his hand. Mordred lowers his pants just enough to take himself together with his Father, and his face heats with color at the sight. “See, Father. We are the same. And you still deny me. You’re truly a stupid king.” There is no haughtiness in his tone. Instead, it’s coated with desire and lust as he starts pumping both together.

Arthur fights not to moan. Mordred willingly exposes all of his. 

It doesn’t become something that Mordred allows to last long. He cares little if Arthur cannot be as into the whole thing as he is. Enchanted in pleasure, all he wants is to show Arthur Pendragon how much he is loved. All he wants it to make Arthur love him as well. Next to his sword, Mordred reaches out to seize the arm he had severed not long ago. Holding it down, blood spurts forth from the hole onto both his and Arthur’s erections.

It makes a splattering sound when Mordred throws the arm to the side and it hits the ground far from them. 

The smell of iron is foul. To Arthur, it makes him dizzier. To Mordred, it makes him hotter. He lets out a sickening moan at the sight of his lower half painted red, at the warmth it gives him as Mordred moves his hand on his dick. With no strength left in his body, Arthur allows Mordred to readjust his body, painting one side of his dick red as he drags his hips onto the knight’s lap. (Mordred doesn’t know, but most of his Father’s consciousness, the same he made sure to keep awake moments ago, is already gone.)

There is no warning, and no care whatsoever. Mordred inserts three fingers coated in blood inside Arthur, and though he means to prepare the king for himself, the job is poorly done as he removes his fingers a moment later to position himself at Arthur’s entrance. Mordred doesn’t slide in with ease. Despite the pain both sides feel, the traitor moans with it, drowns in the pleasure of becoming one with the man he has loved all his life. The king makes use of the little strength he has to cry out in complaint. 

No sooner than that, with an arm holding Arthur’s leg up and around his thigh, Mordred starts moving. “Father. Father. Isn’t this great? Doesn’t it feel good? You’re going to love me. You’re going to love me, more than anyone. And we are going to be together forever. You won’t need anyone else.” (He can’t process those words spoken to him anymore.)

Arthur moans little. Moans as much as his strength allows him, and none of it is enough for him to hold back. None of it is enough to make him conscious enough to want to hold them back. Mordred’s movements aren’t kind. He slams against his Father and disregards the pain. (Arthur would have thought he might even embrace it.) 

“You don’t understand, do you, Father? How much I have looked up to you. How much I have loved you. How much I love you, even now. Even after you have rejected me. Embarrassed me. Humiliated me. But that is fine. I will forgive you. I will forgive you, if you promise to stay forever with me…--”

(He couldn’t, and only then, Mordred realizes it.)

He halts his movements, and looks down to the corpse under his grasp. Mordred should have seen it coming. There is empty disbelief in his face that turns into obsession not a moment later. Into love. Into pleasure. Into more than Mordred can handle. Arthur Pendragon’s last moments were with him. The last thing Arthur Pendragon saw was his face. The last words Arthur Pendragon heard came from his mouth. 

Mordred does not need to care for a body without life. He does not care for it when he slams against Arthur’s entrance again, and it hurts and it’s painful and -- he loves it. Mordred does not care for a body’s well being, but he loves it. The sight of it all, lifeless, with those beautiful green eyes that lay open but hold no light. That body that is now his. That will forever be his.

Then, Mordred pulls out. His release comes in spurts that steal a loud groan from the knight, from the only being alive in the room. All over Arthur’s chest and the remainders of blood Mordred had smeared just a moment ago. All over his wounds, his cuts, and Mordred moans once more.

Marking the body of his Father gives him no better pleasure. 

He leans over Arthur one last time. His fingers are delicate around the man’s face, only to dirty such fair skin with his own blood. There is no humanity to be found in Mordred’s eyes. His face knows nothing else from poisonous love and obsessive feelings. Even when he looks into Arthur’s eyes, he cares little whether the man lives or not. He looks at his Father like a person would look at their beloved. “Nobody will take you from me now, Father. You’re going to be mine forever, forever. I’m going to love you more than anyone.”

And against Arthur’s cold lips, Mordred kisses him for the first time.

(But not the last.)

**Author's Note:**

> did you guys know proto mordred is canonly a yandere. merry christmas and happy new year


End file.
